


Sparkling

by Merwin_Me



Series: The Argent-Stilinski Household [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also gnomes, Atlantis, Backstory, Gen, Libraries, Magic Theory, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Friendship, Sorry Not Sorry, The Alpha Pack, This is a humorous series that now has feels, if that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merwin_Me/pseuds/Merwin_Me
Summary: A Spark and a Demon Wolf walk into a library and get to know each other. Knowledge gained, and all that.And what was that about Atlantis?





	Sparkling

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Искристый (Sparkling)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381587) by [Sulamen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulamen/pseuds/Sulamen)



> *Throws arms up*  
> I didn't mean to write this, damnit! It was supposed to be light-hearted oblivious-as-fuck Stiles with admirer(s) shit.  
> Better luck next time, I guess...  
> Though I did really enjoy writing this :D

 

Though their impromptu holiday in New York had been amazing, and some unexpected friends had been made— _Stiles had Captain America’s phone number oh my god he was going to have a heart attack_ —it was still good to be back in Beacon Hills. Stiles, Allison and Peter had left just before Noah and Chris started packing up their stuff to go to Hawaii. A bit of a second shot at a peaceful honeymoon, at a place near the beach which Danny Mahealani’s parents had been all to happy to rent out.

 

It might be a bit odd that they truly considered Beacon Hills their home, considering the amount of near-death experiences they all have had in the town, but it was theirs. Their town. Theirs to protect and theirs to live in.

 

But literally, theirs to protect. Because the other pack—Derek’s pack—was doing a piss poor job of it.

 

Seeing as in their absence, a giant family of Wendigos had moved in and started harassing the local peaceful mermen.

 

Who knew that some Wendigos preferred their meals more sushi than offal?

 

——

 

There were many things that made Beacon Hills a rather odd place, and Stiles wasn’t just talking about its high death toll, the staggering amount of teachers they went through, the near yearly massacres at either the school or the hospital or just the general populace either ignoring the Supernatural world or being extremely oblivious to it.

 

He wasn’t even talking about the fact that their vet was a Druid—or, just as strangely, that their Druid was a veterinarian.

 

No, Stiles’ most recent discovery that caused him to adjust how he saw his own birth town once again, was the fact that their library had a hidden, underground library. One that could only be opened by using a drop of Supernatural blood—pricking your finger on the tiny magical needle hidden in the handle—or a small burst of magic—because most users of magic were completely human when looking at their DNA.

 

Of course, in order to even know where to find the door, which was hidden behind a series of enchantments, one needed to be told about its existence by someone already in the know.

 

Peter was properly horrified and insulted that he hadn’t known about the hidden library before Stiles told him, who had learned it from the librarian after Stiles had saved her from a couple of gnomes.

 

Those little demons might not sound terrifying, but killing a gnome was like killing a cockroach—except that it was actually possible. Eventually.

 

_And_ then there was the fact that those gnomes had had the ability to double in size, strength and durability, and Stiles had come out of that fight a little more bruised than usual.

 

It had been worth it to gain entrance to the treasure trove that was the Supernatural library, though. Even more worth it because the librarian actually _liked_ him enough that he was allowed inside at all times. Turns out that the gnomes had been a problem in the library for longer than Stiles had thought and the librarian had been trying her hardest to get rid of the buggers before they ate her out of a job.

 

Book eating gnomes. The Argent Bestiary hadn’t mentioned those.

 

After that little adventure, it was no surprise that most evenings, Stiles could be found in the Supernatural library, soaking up all the knowledge about magic that was laying around, hoping to find hints that might help him with his Spark. Though he had asked the librarian about any such books, she had to disappoint him as, apparently, Sparks didn’t like books written about them. Something about them being rare as fuck and not wanting people to know just how powerful they were and what they could do.

 

Stiles would have thrown a hissy fit right there, had the librarian not followed it up by the magical words ‘belief truly is everything’. And then winked at him. And whispered ‘imagination’ under her breath like saying it any louder would bring doom down upon them.

 

Not that she was too far off, to be honest. Because if there is one thing Stiles had in spades, it was imagination. And belief, well, he was the one whose thoughts went from ‘Scott has been bitten by a wolf-like creature in the woods, though it was too dark for him to really see what had bitten him so it could’ve been a mountain lion’ to ‘Werewolf’ and be _actually_ _correct_.

 

The thing was though, there were still laws to magic. Food could not be conjured, the dead could not be brought back alive—unless the point was to raise a Ghoul—and One Should Not Invoke The Gods. The first two were enough to make Stiles wonder whether Peter would actually kill him if he changed his name to Harry Potter, and the last made him research into the fact that there were _actual Gods_. And they were fucking _terrifying_.

 

Turns out, the Hellmouth part of Buffy the Vampire Slayer was a cautionary tale about what happened to the not-so fictional but definitely-fucking-gone-off-the-face-of-the-earth town of Sunnydale when a coven of witches attempted to invoke a God.

 

Why would anyone want to call upon Hades for Christ’s sake?!

 

The book Stiles found about Gods—aptly named ‘ _Invoking the Gods and Why You Should Not Do It_ ’—had terrified Stiles enough to know that if anything, he would have to start praying to a God whenever he was about to kill some beast, to hope that the sort-of maybe probably not sacrifice would be enough to _not_ bring the wrath of that God down upon him.

 

Maybe a God of war? Or would a God of death be better? Or the Goddess of the earth? Or—

 

“I would suggest you do not invoke a deity, Stiles.” A soft voice sounded from behind him, and Stiles was very proud of the fact that he did not throw the book at the man’s face.

 

On second thought, when Stiles turned to see who had appeared behind him, he probably should have thrown it anyway. Of course _Deucalion_ would know the location of this library. The wolf had, at one point in time, been an Alpha in Hill Valley and an ally of Talia Hale. Who had, according to the librarian, donated a couple of ‘those cheap paperbacks in the back’.

 

Cheap paperbacks meaning slightly less rare books of the Supernatural of which there was more than one copy in this library.

 

“I wasn’t planning on invoking one of them.” Stiles muttered even as he resolutely turned back to his book. If he didn’t, he might be tempted to try and stab Death, Destroyer of Worlds in the face, and the librarian had a strict no fighting policy in her library. And considering Stiles _still_ hadn’t figured out just what she was, he wasn’t going to test it.

 

It seemed that Deucalion wasn’t going to test it either, as he just pulled a book out of the shelves and opened it where a personal bookmark had been stuck between the pages, before moving to sit at the table, opposite of Stiles.

 

For a second, Stiles was tempted to slide his laptop to the right a bit so that it would mostly block his view of Deucalion, but decided against it. He wasn’t going to disrupt his system of chaotic chaos that were the four open books, two notebooks, a stack of pens, pencils and different colored markers, a personal copy of the Argents Bestiary and his laptop scattered all over the table.

 

“I see you are interested in magic. Have a wish to become a Darach as well, Stiles?”

 

Quiet study time was over. How inconsiderate.

 

“Nope, trying to find out just what it is I could potentially do.” For a moment, Stiles considered sliding a book over his notebook to cover the fact that he had written ‘SPARK??????’ in block letters at the top of the page, before the deciding against it. Seeing as Deucalion was already looking over his spread out materials, there was no doubt the Alpha had already seen it.

 

And, seeing the slight widening of the Alpha’s eyes, made the connection.

 

“A Spark? How intriguing, I haven’t seen one of your kind in years.”

 

“Still human.” Stiles grumbled, before latching onto what Deucalion just admitted. “Wait, you’ve met a Spark before? Can you tell me about it?”

 

Deucalion, who had rudely grabbed one of Stiles’ full notebooks and was looking through the pages of information Stiles had gathered, looked up to cast a slow look over Stiles’ open and questioning expression.

 

“You have not found a Spark to teach you?”

 

“No, I wouldn’t know where to start looking. Papa and Peter have never met one before, and the librarian only knew the bare bones about the origin of a Spark’s power, but other than that, well.” Stiles just motioned at the magic books piled on the table. “I’ve been trying to figure out what is possible and impossible with magic, like raising the dead and conjuring food, but—”

 

“You should stop.” Deucalion interrupted, replacing the bookmark in his own book and placing it to the side. “From what little I know of Sparks, any perceived impossibilities can limit the extend of your power. When they say belief is key—you know about that, correct?” At Stiles’ nod, Deucalion continued. “They mean belief is _key_. For a normal Witch, Druid, Mage or Sorcerer, conjuring food would indeed be impossible. However, the Spark I met _could_ conjure food. She said that while the food she made appear did not appear out of nowhere, it was pulled from a restaurant or bakery or homestead elsewhere to appear before her. She could not truly conjure it out of nothing, but she _could_ make it appear. She also mentioned however, that she believed that she _should not be able_ to conjure food out of nothing. So she couldn’t.”

 

Stiles was gaping openly at Deucalion, pondering somewhere in the back of his mind whether he should just throw away the notebook he had started filling with what he considered limitations.

 

“Don’t limit yourself, Stiles, but make sure to consider the consequences of your actions. There is a good reason why there are laws against raising the dead, and should you mess with necromancy too often, or attempt to recall the souls of those deceased, you may find yourself in the disfavor of the Gods. There is a natural balance to nature, and no matter how much I despise Druids,” no, really? Stiles could totally not remember that hatred, “there is a balance to be kept. Human conflicts do not matter to the Gods, but life and death is a matter of nature. One messes with nature too much, and they’ll be cut from the equation to prevent irreparable damage to the balance.”

 

“Like the Old Ones, then?” Stiles spoke up when Deucalion took a short break from his lecture. “I’ve read a couple of books that mention the Old Ones as something to be left in peace, unless you want to ‘call down wrath upon all that lives’.” The last was a direct quote from one of the more dramatic books he had read—one of Talia Hale’s donated paperbacks.

 

“That’s a bit dramatic, but the essence of it is correct. The Old Ones, or the Ancient Beasts, are not to be messed with. They rarely appear before the eyes of human beings or Supernaturals, and generally live in areas that man will never reach, but they are the true balance keepers. They are direct creations of the Gods, to appear when needed to right the balance before it gets so destabilized that a true God has to step in.”

 

“So when this book says that the Old Ones sank a city…?”

 

“They are talking about Atlantis, correct. A city that was pulling magic from the air and the earth to sustain itself, to sustain life within. Tales of Atlantis are myths for humans, but cautionary tales in the Supernatural world. A city filled with beings who thought themselves more important than the Gods, who stole magic, life and power from everything around the city. Though there are many different tales of how exactly it happened, the Council has accepted only one of those as the true version of events. A story that tells of floods starting from deep below, smashing the outer city walls, drowning the residents. A story that tells of humongous, monstrous beasts of the land keeping the citizens inside the gates as the land beneath their feet crumbled and disappeared with the waves. A tale that talks of enormous monsters coming from the depths of the ocean, destroying the towers and swimming through the streets, eating everything and everyone they saw. Atlantis sank, but it was destroyed before the last rooftop disappeared beneath the waves.”

 

“How,” Stiles was listening with a slightly open mouth, having long since hit the record button on his laptop as Deucalion seemed to lose himself in the tale, motioning around him and eyes no longer looking at Stiles, but past him, through him, as passion laced every spoken word, “how did this not get written down by humans? How did something like that get _forgotten_?”

 

It was silent for a bit as Deucalion seemed to be lost in thought, before the Alpha turned back to look at Stiles.

 

“Because the Gods willed it. So the humans forgot, but for the Supernatural it became a cautionary tale. Don’t presume to become Gods, to steal what belongs to the earth, what belongs to them.”

 

“How do you _know_ all this?”

 

A wistful smile curled the Alpha’s lips slightly, and he sat back a little in his chair, no longer looking to drop back in to lecturing mode.

 

“The history of the Supernatural has always been a passion of mine. I have gathered quite the personal library of rare books from different species all over the world. Before Gerard Argent happened, I spent my days searching for lost tomes and ancient Supernatural antiques. I have only recently been ready to go back to the pursuit of knowledge.”

 

“I have been wondering,” Stiles started slowly, keeping his eyes on Deucalion to see if he would possibly become violent with the next question, “how you decided to start an Alpha pack. I know about Gerard and the so-called peace summit, but Peter couldn’t tell me much more than the few facts Talia had told him.” And, if Stiles was honest to himself, he wasn’t sure how much of what Peter had told him about that time was true.

 

It had been one of Peter’s more manipulative weeks, considering what Stiles later learned about what happened with Paige. Not putting ideas in Derek’s head, right. Though it _was_ true that Peter had not expected Paige to die.

 

Deucalion was silent for a bit longer, seeming to be lost in thought again as he stared at Stiles’ notebook, not having turned a page the last couple of minutes. It was a sensitive subject, that much was obvious, but Stiles was curious. And he had the wolf sitting right in front of him, in territory that couldn’t get much more neutral if they tried.

 

“My pack was a small one, when compared to the Hale pack.” Deucalion started with a soft sigh, even as he dug a thermos of tea out of his leather bag like a true British Werewolf. “The Hales had numbers in the thirties, while my pack consisted of five Betas and myself as the Alpha. I loved my Betas like they were my own family, my right hand Beta, Marco, I saw as a son. I taught him everything I knew, I was preparing him to take over my Alpha power when the time came that I either passed away or wanted to retire. I cared for them all, gave them a home, gave them freedom to study and work, freedom to build a life outside of the pack.”

 

“Apparently,” Deucalion muttered bitterly, taking a sip of his tea, “I gave them too much freedom. After Gerard blinded me, and I was left alone in Deaton’s clinic with my trust right hand, Marco tried to kill me. Said that and Alpha without his sight would either willingly give up his power or would have to be culled from the pack. I defended myself, and ended up killing him. Not my best moment, I’ll agree, but I was still enraged by what had been done to me and confused as to why my _son_ was trying to kill me—”

 

Deucalion cut himself off there, taking a moment to forcibly relax his body and retract his claws from where they had popped out unbidden. Stiles kept his expression as open and non-judging as he could. He wanted to hear the whole story, not just those bits he had learned from people who had heard it second-hand, or Gerard Argent himself. Not even from Deaton, considering the balance driven Druid who liked to stay on the outside of things.

 

“I had four Betas left after that, but contrary to what everyone seems to believe, I did not kill them all. I had enough of my mind left to chase the two youngest out of my territory, afraid what I was going to do to them. The eldest two did not listen, they didn’t run when I told them to. There is a problem with power gained through killing one of your own Betas, and that is that the power corrupts. For a Werewolf, pack is everything, a pack is what makes you whole. I am sure you have heard that losing a pack member is like losing a limb, correct? I had lost my eyesight to a madman I thought to be an ally, my heart when my Beta son tried to kill me, and a limb when I killed him. I went mad. The two Betas that stayed behind—Sasha and Eric—tried to protect themselves, tried to calm me down.”

 

A pause.

 

“They didn’t succeed. They should have run with the other two, then they would still be alive. But they didn’t. They did what their wolves told them to, protect their Alpha, attempt to call him back to sanity. They didn’t fucking succeed.”

 

It was the first time that Stiles had heard the Werewolf swear, and he wasn’t sure what to do as anguish made Deucalion look older than he actually was. It was clear to Stiles that he had opened old wounds in the wolf, wounds that seemed to still be festering.

 

“In one day, I lost my eyesight, my trust in supposedly peaceful Hunters and pack bonds. One had been taken from me, the other had proven to be a lie and the last could take my sanity and _couldn’t_ stop me hurting my pack mates. My biggest regret came after that though. It came when I managed to convince Ennis to kill the few Betas he had left, and when Kali then did the same. What you should know, is that Alphas can’t forge pack bonds with one another. They can coexist together, but they can’t have a pack bond. So I couldn’t feel the loss of pack again.”

 

“That sounds lonely.” Stiles said softly when Deucalion stopped speaking again, and he got a sigh in return.

 

“Yes, it is quite lonely, but I was a bit too mad to realize that creating a new pack could bring my sanity back to me. I believe it was when I killed Ennis that I started regaining more of my sanity. I am relieved that the Alpha pack that I created is no longer whole, if I am to be honest. Aiden and Ethan can be free to join a pack of their choosing now, or create one of their own, Kali can no longer hurt someone else. Ennis…I hope he is at peace with his pack now.”

 

“And what about you? Are you at peace?”

 

For a long moment, Deucalion didn’t answer Stiles, just looked at him over the top of his thermos. He seemed to be looking into Stiles’ soul, looking for answers Stiles wasn’t sure he had given him, looking for _something_. And seemingly finding it, because when Deucalion next smiled, he no longer looked to be as sad as he had been a moment ago.

 

“I am as at peace as I can be, everything considered. I long for my old pack, I believe I will always long for what I once had, but my wolf and I are no longer fighting each other, or destroying packs that have what I once had. The last months I have returned to restoring my old library and saving what books and artifacts I had, but I am done fighting.”

 

Stiles wouldn’t lie and say that this wasn’t a relief to him, it was. It was enough to make him let loose of the last bit of tension that had lingered from the moment Deucalion had taken a seat opposite of him.

 

It wasn’t as if Stiles forgot what the wolf had done to all of them, to Beacon Hills and to the other packs across America, but now that he could understand what had made Deucalion who he was, he could work on forgiving him for some things.

 

Though Stiles couldn’t have predicted that they would start meeting in the library more often from now on, some days just reading and researching together, the other days bouncing ideas off of each other or exchanging stories.

 

——

 

“How _do_ you know the Spark you put me in contact with?”

 

“She banned me from Minnesota when I attempted to destroy her pack.”

 

“She banned you from a _STATE_? Sparks can _do_ that?”

 

“If I even consider going to Minnesota, I get a feeling of absolute terror, and if I attempt to actually cross the border, my body becomes paralyzed for an hour before my wolf runs. So yes little Sparkling, they absolutely can.”

 

“ _Wicked_.”

 

Deucalion had created a monster.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is. The absolutely unplanned appearance of DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS. This probably has something to do with me rewatching the entirety of Season 3 in a weekend...


End file.
